


feel a little closer as we tumble through the sky

by sternenrotz



Category: The Horrors (Band)
Genre: ? - Freeform, Agender Character, Body Worship, Breast Fucking, Comeplay, Established Relationship, Light Angst, Lingerie, Nipple Play, Non-Penetrative Sex, Nonbinary Character, Other, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, a little bit of, for a given definition of plot, not fully-fledged angst just some bleakness, probably the closest i will ever get to writing dominant joe, reprehensible filth starring rhys with tits basically, some bad feels in the beginning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-02-18 07:45:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2340581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sternenrotz/pseuds/sternenrotz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rhys is feeling a bit moody, but they're up for some good old-fashioned birthday sex either way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	feel a little closer as we tumble through the sky

**Author's Note:**

> titled after "Stay Together" by Suede.
> 
> ...or: titty fucking your datefriend because it's closest to their heart.
> 
> set in the same verse as these two fics ([x](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1518779)) (x) although you can't really tell since Josh and Tom only get a tiny mention.
> 
> Rhys IDs as femmy agender in this verse, so they go by they/them pronouns, but they're on estrogen and androgen blockers because they're more comfortable with being gendered as female rather than male. (note: I don't know how good the UK is about giving nonbinary people access to HRT but let's be idealistic about this one.) they're not comfortable with the idea of having ANY sort of gendered body parts but they're okay with having their penis as well as their breasts touched and are straightforward with the terminology they prefer for those parts.
> 
> also, the bra and knickers they're wearing is this: ([x](http://www.asos.com/-ASOS-Pretty-Lace-2-Tone-Lingerie-Set/pgeproduct.aspx?sgid=8819&cid=6046&Rf989=5045&Rf-200=17&sh=0&pge=0&pgesize=36&sort=-1&clr=Bluegreen&totalstyles=23&gridsize=3))

After a year, the excitement has worn off.

When they're having tea that evening, reheated Chinese takeaway they're eating while sitting on their couch, Joe brings it up. “So,” he says, when it's been quiet for a while save for the record playing and the soft sound of Rhys' chewing. “Today's your anniversary.”

“I know.” Rhys shoves a forkful of spring roll into their mouth and adds, muffled, “thought you wouldn't have remembered.”

“Yeah, but I did.” Joe stretches out one hand across the back of the sofa. “Happy birthday.”

Really, Joe remembers it so vividly that the date might be permanently burned into some part of his mind. Might even remember it just as well as Rhys, just from seeing them counting down the days leading up to it with both excitement and anxiety and generally fidgeting about. The actual day of the appointment, they both got up early and took the bus down to the clinic while Rhys was clutching at Joe's hand with wracked nerves and twitching legs. Back then, they'd said it was the most terrifying thing they were ever going to do.

“Happy birthday to me.” Their face curls into a dimpled little smile when they take Joe's hand and squeeze it. “Thanks.”

“Should've had a party.” Joe rubs at Rhys' shin where the hairs are just growing back in lightly because they hadn't bothered with shaving lately, where they've got their feet planted in his lap. “Like Josh did.”

“Yeah.” They relax into the touch, shimmying down against the upholstery to get closer.

The last few days, Rhys has been stuck in whatever-mode, like they call it themselves, that place between boy mode and girl mode when they wear nothing but big lumpy jumpers and let their hair dry curly and spend the day sitting around in their underwear. They rearrange their socked feet and adjust the pillow behind their head so they can keep on eating, and say, “you know Josh's different though.”

“I know.”

Of course Joe knows, even if he doesn't think he truly _understands_ , because after all these years of being with Rhys he still has this thought looming in the back of his brain that he's completely clueless when it comes to this gender thing. Which is a stupid and selfish thought to have, maybe, but it still tugs at the insides of his ribcage and his throat and generally makes him feel extremely guilty and stupid. He digs into the reheated fried rice, but it's too soggy in his mouth, too flavourless.

Around the mouthful of rice, Joe says, “still would've been nice to have a party.”

Rhys makes a noncommittal noise and shifts some more. “We should just invite everyone over next week and have a belated one.” They nudge Joe's side with one knee and hold out a piece of spring roll impaled on their fork vaguely in his direction and ask, “d'you still have sweet and sour on your plate?”

“Yeah, here.”

Joe holds his plate out and watches them smother the spring roll in sauce, which isn't exactly a pleasant sight. He doesn't say what he wants to say, that he figured if they actually had a party for Rhys' hormone anniversary it would maybe help with getting them out of that _whatever_ rut. Cheer them up from whatever gripe that Joe wouldn't really understand, and that's an equally selfish thought, so Joe doesn't say anything. He watches Rhys eat quietly for a second and somehow manages to get some more fried rice and orange chicken down his throat. It's quiet, not quiet in the way it usually is between them when neither of them feel the need to say anything because they're comfortable without words, and Joe doesn't like it.

“Josh told me he's scheduling the surgery to get his baby cannon removed,” Rhys says the next time they beckon for Joe to reach his plate with sauce out to them. Muffled by their mouth full of food, they add, “by the way.”

“What?”

“When we were out for coffee last week.” Then, when the realisation that that wasn't the answer Joe was looking for hits them after a split second, Rhys adds, “you know, a hysterectomy?”

“Yeah, I know what a hysterectomy is.” Joe wrinkles his nose and takes another bite from his chicken. “Did he actually say that? Baby cannon?”

“Yeah, he did.” Rhys makes a snorting little amused noise which they can only barely conceal with one baggy sleeve held in front of their mouth, and they sit up and shuffle close so they can steal some more sauce off Joe's plate with ease. Like this, they've got one leg thrown on Joe's lap, the wool of their jumper scratchy against his arm, and their voice is that much closer by Joe's ear when they say, “he and Tom want to try for a kid before he gets it out, like go through the whole egg extraction and surrogate process.”

“Nice for them,” Joe says, and he really means it. “They'd make good dads.” Then it clicks, and, oh. “Wait, hey.”

“Mm?”

“That the reason why you've been so whatever lately?” And Joe immediately feels a bit guilty and stupid for asking that, even if the only reason he's asking is because he actually wants Rhys to feel better.

“Maybe.” Rhys shrugs. “I don't even know what my body wants half the time, so.”

They lean forward to place the finished plate on the coffee table and make a grab for the box of cigarettes that's on there. Joe watches as they light one up and take a deep drag, and when they hold the fag out to him, he accepts it. He’s got that clueless feeling again, except this time around it's not lingering in some corner of his head but right at the forefront of it, a nasty, vaguely shameful feeling, and he can't will it away.

“I mean, of _course_ it upsets me when I see Josh's getting surgery and feeling more and more comfortable with himself while I'm just over here and I know there's no way I'll ever get to do the same, but.”

They suck on their cigarette again and exhale a long thread of smoke over the dirty dishes on the table, and Joe can't help but feel like he's being treated like a child, having something so incredibly obvious explained to him. Surgery's not an option for Rhys, because there's simply no procedure that could give them the body they have in mind, and they both know that, and Joe can't help but feel even more of that guilt for being a huge idiot.

“You know I'm trying to be actually _happy_ for Josh and it's so hard and I'm trying to tell myself that the reason I feel bad about my body isn't because I'm jealous that he gets to not feel bad about his.” Like this, their curls all crowded around their face, Rhys reminds Joe of a thundercloud, a frustrated electrically charged little ball. The cloud sinks when they bow their head, and a tiny sprinkle of ash lands on the pale flesh of their thigh.

“Yeah,” Joe just says. He wants to wrap his arm properly around their shoulders, but there's a part of him that feels the possibility of him getting shocked from it is very real, and so he doesn't. “You know I'm not going to say that I get it, because I don't, but I don't like seeing you like this, so.” He does go for a tentative hand on their knee, now, because they've already got their leg right there, and when Rhys doesn't relax under the touch this time, it only serves to make him feel even more like he's completely clueless and useless. “Just want you to feel better, I guess.”

“Yeah.” Rhys offers him the fag once again, and Joe takes it. The nicotine rush doesn't really serve to cover up the guilt, either. “It's going to pass, you know, sooner or later? So you don't have to be so overbearing.”

“I'm not _overbearing_ ,” Joe says. “I just care, that's all, because you're my datefriend and I wish I could understand what you're going through and help you. You know?”

“Yeah.” Rhys holds their empty hand out and Joe hands the fag back. “I don't need you to feel sorry for me.”

They've had this conversation before, several times at that, and still Joe can't _not_ feel disappointed in himself for making them have it again. He removes his hand from Rhys' knee and sits up, and when Rhys gives the stubby cigarette back to him, he smokes it down all the way to the butt and lets the ember simmer out in the ashtray on the table in the small silence that follows.

“Yeah,” Joe says back, after a few seconds. He looks at the sauce-smeared plates on the table and asks, “d'you want me to do the washing-up?” And it's stupid, of course, he feels like some stereotype of a husband trying to appease his wife who's cross with him, except Rhys isn't actually a wife and he already knows it's not going to work.

“No, it's all good.” Rhys disentangles themselves from Joe and the couch and says, “I'll do it myself.” They make a neat stack of the plates, silverware clattered on top, and reach for a cup of stale tea that one of them had forgotten there earlier today.

Joe watches them leave, soft sway in their step but tension in their shoulders, and he feels exhausted, not in a bodily sense, but his brain is strained from feeling all too clueless about this.

*** 

And now it's several hours after that, and Joe's still got that conversation on his mind, They're having an early night, as they'd had for the last couple of days, the alarm clock on the bedside's not even blinking 11 yet, and he's trying to get comfortable between the sheets without having another body in there he can cling to. He doesn't _really_ believe Rhys is cross with him, because that's just not something that really happens between them, or at least it's been years since it happened last. At the least, when he'd _asked_ , Rhys had said they weren't mad, but other than that and shallow chatter while they were watching whatever they found on TV, they hadn't talked to each other at all, and Joe doesn't feel like a simple “I'm not cross with you” suffices to end this conversation.

He rolls over once again and slinks his arm deep between the pillowcases, so he can inhale the traces of fruity fragrance Rhys has left there. They've been in the bath for an unusually long time now, and over the humming of the traffic outside their bedroom window, Joe can't hear them rummaging about like he normally would, either, which just makes that vague unsettled feeling in his gut that Rhys might just be cross after all grow stronger.

Joe pulls the duvet higher up to tuck it past his shoulder, but even then the bed is too cold for him and he unfocusses his eyes against the dim bedside lamp and lets the white noise of cars passing outside fade out, and still he can't help but notice how the feeling of sleepiness won't settle into his body at all. He's used to this by now, nights when they both go to sleep early on like an old married couple, might even say that he's enjoying it, but he's not used to sleeping without a warm body in his bed unless it's in a vibrating bus bunk and he can't get much sleep on tour to begin with.

Rhys knocks onto the door frame when they come back, as if they needed that to make Joe aware of their presence. They've swapped the fuzzy jumper for an old black t-shirt, so big it hangs down to their thighs and the sleeves go past their elbows, but it's only when they climb onto the bed that Joe notices their hair is still damp, tiny droplets of water caught in their hairline.

“Hey there.”

“Hey.” Rhys pulls the duvet out of the cocoon Joe had wrapped himself in and snuggles in underneath it, and Joe twitches when their cold feet brush against his.

“Did you just shower?”

Rhys nods. “I felt really gross, so.” They shuffle closer and tangle their legs with Joe's (Joe lets out an embarrassingly squeaky “ _cold_ ”, which in turn causes Rhys to laugh at him) and they say, “feel better now, I think. In general.”

They make a humming noise in affirmation, and Joe hums back.

Even in the low light between what's coming in through the window and the bedside lamp, he can see every individual eyelash bat against their cheeks when Rhys closes their eyes. One slender hand spreads out on the sheets, and Joe takes that as a sign to reach out and close his own around it. That's the only point of contact between them, their entwined hands and their legs where they brush against each other, and it's different from the way full-on cuddling is intimate, so tender that Joe feels like he's touching something frail when he runs his thumb across the back of Rhys' Hand.

So delicate that Joe can't bring himself to speak louder than a whisper when he asks, “hey? Rhys?”

“Hey again,” Rhys whispers back. A soft little smile curls around the corners of their mouth, genuine and warm against the dark, and Joe's tempted to reach out and brush the one strand of fringe that's fallen into their face away. “What d'you want?”

“Just wanted to,” Joe starts, and he can't help but feel unsettled once more, “wanted to ask if you really weren't angry with me when I asked if you were earlier. Just to make sure.”

“Yeah.” Rhys brings up their own hand to brush that bit of hair away, and when their leg moves in to tangle closer with Joe's again, it's not so cold any more. “Wasn't angry with you, I mean. I was angry but you had nothing to do with it.”

“Okay.” Joe's pretty sure he can feel Rhys' heartbeat in the spaces where their fingers press between his, and he really wants to close what little gap there is between their faces and kiss them, just to seal that moment of intimacy. “Because I don't ever want to say anything that would make you angry. That's the opposite of what I want.” His thumb gentles over the soft back of Rhys' hand once more, and he says, “but I still want to say sorry for being so overbearing around you. And I'm sorry that I don't truly get your gender thing at all, and that's probably why I get so overbearing when you feel bad. Because I'm secretly terrified you might go and leave me for someone who does understand it.” There's a heavy lump in his throat and it feels like it's coming out with every word he says, like dry heaving up a brick, and Joe swallows deeply, and then swallows again when he can see sparkly tears welling up in the corners of Rhys' eyes.

They make a choked-off tiny noise, not a sob, but that smile doesn't fade out. “No,” they say. “Joe, no, don't say that.” It's hard to tell, but Joe thinks the noise they're making is closest to awe, amazement, and they say, “please don't ever, _ever_ say that again.”

“What?” Rhys' heartbeat is so obvious between their fingers, even more obvious when they clench the hold they've got on Joe, and it only amplifies the sound of Joe's own in his ribcage somehow.

“I'm not going to leave you for anyone.” Rhys wipes some of the tears that have welled out of their eyes on the back of their other hand. “Wouldn't even think about finding someone else. Even if that person understood me a little better.”

The tears keep on flowing, and Joe sniffs back at them. Really, he knows that it's mainly a side effect of the hormones, the reason why Rhys cries so easily now, but still, Joe gets this stupid heavy sentimental feeling swelling in his chest at their words, that and the urge to cry along, but he doesn't.

Still, his voice sounds heavy when he replies, “I just don't think it's good that we've been together for so long and I still don't really get your gender thing, so.” He swallows thickly and says, “that's just not normal, right?”

“'cause we're not normal.” Rhys presses their entwined hands further into the sheets, and they laugh, just for a short second, even with the tears still in their eyes. “And I would've left much earlier if it bothered me that much that you don't really get it, but I've been putting up with you for over ten years, so.”

“Guess that's true.” Joe isn't sure when he nudged closer to Rhys, or the other way around, but the gap between their faces is suddenly that much smaller, their legs entangled that bit deeper. He decides to close that gap by kissing Rhys, just a soft quick peck, but it's enough to make their eyelashes flutter shut and their fingers twitch. “Love you,” he whispers into the soft silence and onto Rhys' mouth, and it's not just to prove how scared he is of losing Rhys, it's because of how much he's feeling it at that very second, pink fog clouding up his brain and his chest.

“Love you too,” Rhys whispers back, tender and fragile the way this whole moment is, and the next second, they're beckoning for Joe to nudge in that little bit closer. “Come here.”

It takes a few seconds for them to slot seamlessly into each other, until Joe's halfway on top of Rhys with their short nails petting gentle at his bare back and their legs still wound around his. When they've settled, Rhys breathes, “here,” right into Joe's ear, when they're just in the position that's most comfortable for both of them.

Because they both know how each other's bodies work inside out, and still, Joe feels the need to whisper, “yeah, here,” back at them. “This's nice.”

“Yeah.” Rhys draws a long line down Joe's spine and asks, “are we still talking about this?”

“I guess we are. Cuddling and talking.”

“Good.” They turn their head a little ways into the pillow, and they say, “'cause, honestly, I'm just as terrified that one day you're going to leave me for someone normal. Bloke or a girl who wants to have the same type of sex as you do and who isn't weird and messed up.” That soft choking sobbing noise falls from their mouth again, and Joe can see their tear tracks glisten in the dark like this, sparkling up some more with fresh tears leaking from their eyes. “And I'm sorry that I called you overbearing today, because I don't really think you are. 'm actually really glad that you still put up with me and try to help me feel better even when you don't understand how I feel.” They wipe their face on the back of their hand once again and sniffle, which is kind of disgusting, but Joe keeps his eyes locked on Rhys'. “And I'm also sorry for being gross and sensitive and for crying so much.”

And then they turn their head to blow their nose in the pillowcase, which is _really_ disgusting, and Joe disentangles himself enough to be able to reach for the box of Kleenex on the bedside table.

“Hey.” Joe snubs a ball of wadded-up tissue along underneath Rhys' nose, in an attempt to clean up the excess snot there, and it's not the most gentle gesture he could have aimed for. “Here, settle down. No need to apologise.”

Rhys' skinny fingers are shaky when they grasp for the tissue and wipe it all over their face, cleaning the sticky tears off their cheeks and from the corners of their eyes, and they give that cracked tiny smile again. “Sorry I'm so overemotional.”

“Stop apologising.” Joe picks the crumpled tissue out of their fingers and stretches to discard it on the bedside table for the time being. “I told you to. It's all right.” His hands go to pet over Rhys' hair, over their cheek flecked with pink, and he says, “I don't mind if you're gross or overemotional, you know that. And I've _also_ stuck around with you for over ten years, so you don't have to worry about me leaving you, ever.” And Joe means it, really truly means it so much that his heart aches with it.

He closes the distance between their faces once more to kiss them, soft and gentle and still a bit messy with leftover stickiness on Rhys' lips, which, really, doesn't gross him out as much as it probably should. Rhys hiccups into the kiss, sniffles a little bit more when Joe pulls back, and they whisper, “okay.”

“Really, truly okay?”

“Yeah.” Their foreheads bump into each other when Rhys leans forward, and they say, “I'm kind of glad we felt the same way, you know, that we were both secretly scared the other one would leave one day?”

Like this, they're close enough that Joe can smell the fruity shampoo Rhys uses, but that's still not close enough for him, not close enough to close the gap between their torsos.

“That's so fucked up, of course, but I'm still glad that I wasn't the only one who felt that way.”

“Yeah,” Joe says back. “Yeah, it's fucked up, and yeah, it's good that I wasn't the only one.”

What he wants at that moment is to hold Rhys properly, close enough he can feel their t-shirt and the soft swell of the tiny breasts they're growing on his chest, so he says it, “hey, come closer.” It's a little bit wanting to show Rhys that he won't leave and a little bit of being grateful that they don't want to leave either, and also a lot of simply needing to squeeze someone tightly right now.

“Like this?”

“Yeah.”

They're in roughly the same position again as the one they were in before Rhys started crying, except this time it's even closer, enough for Joe to wind his arms around Rhys' waist where it dips in gently. He nuzzles his face into the soft hollow of Rhys' throat, feels some leftover moisture still sticking to their skin, and this is just what he wanted, the amount of closeness he needed for that sleepy-slow feeling to settle in his limbs.

“Are we okay now?” Joe asks, just to really be sure.

“Yeah. Think we are.” Rhys' whole body gives a little twitch when Joe accidentally lays his lips onto a ticklish spot on their neck, and they ask, “hey, come kiss me?”

And really, Joe was ready to just go sleep holding Rhys as they usually do on their early nights, but he can do that, too. It's deliberate this time around when he kisses a trail up the sensitive skin to their jaw, makes them squeak softly with it, all the way to Rhys' soft little lips. When he gets there, Joe lays one soft peck after the next onto their mouth, until they're all pliant and parting their lips for him, and he accepts.

He's gentle still when he licks into Rhys' mouth, past the hard line of their teeth, but that's still enough to get them making soft noises into the kiss, soft hands cupping Joe's pointy shoulders and stroking down his spine that bit more insistently. Rhys' thigh rubs upward where it's still nudged between Joe's, when the kiss starts to turn more intense, and Joe has to pretend that doesn't send some quiet rush of lightning and arousal up his spine.

“Joe,” Rhys exhales when they move apart for a second, so Joe can get his breath back and will himself to not get hard and hump Rhys' leg. “Joe, d'you want to?”

“What?” Joe asks back, even though he knows perfectly well what they're referring to. It's more surprise than anything else, because it's been _weeks_ since they'd last had sex, the full-on full-contact intimate type of sex that Joe likes, and even longer since Rhys had initiated it.

“Sex?” they ask, and their thigh grazes over Joe's dick some more, and, okay, he's definitely on his way to getting hard now. He decides it's justified, though, when Rhys keeps talking, in that stupid low voice they pull out when they try to be seductive, “'cause I really, really want to.”

Joe obliges when they tip their head back, asking for another kiss, and he listens to their breath catching and uncatching steadily this time around when he eats at their mouth, the way their hands grasp for support on his back in needy patterns. He can feel their heart booming faster through the soft t-shirt cotton, and his cock gives an excited little twitch at that, at the knowledge that they're into this, really, truly getting needy for it. Their cock feels soft when it bumps against Joe's hip, through the layers of shirt and pants separating them, but Joe figures it's the hormones, and besides, it's easy to see past that when Rhys is slotting their fingers into the back of his hair to keep him close. Maybe he actually moans into their mouth at that.

Only maybe.

“Let's have a party,” they whisper eventually, when they're using that same hand to pull Joe away from their mouth, “all just the two of us.”

“You really want to?” Joe asks, just to be sure, but his hand's already stroking down Rhys' spine to where it curves out into their bum, “'cause you know you don't...”

 _Don't have to_ , is what he wants to say, but he's interrupted when Rhys laughs back at him, soft and tinkling. “'f course I want to,” they insist, fingers tightening at Joe's scalp, “been too long since the last time,” and they tilt their head up to peck Joe's lips once more as if to prove their point.

The kiss quickly turns sloppy once again, Rhys' mouth soft and open and ready for it, but this time around they pull back sooner, after only a few licks.

“Come on,” they breathe, still so close Joe can feel it against his saliva-slick lips, and their thigh pressed between Joe's gets more insistent as it rubs against his cock.

And of course Joe can't ignore that, he tilts his hips into the friction and all, but there's still that guilty-and-stupid feeling sitting heavy in the pit of his gut, and even when he focusses on peppering even more kisses along their neck, he can't really will that away. He hesitates when his hands trail down the soft curve of Rhys' bum, to where the t-shirt stops and their thighs start, listens for their soft breaths, and he tries to ignore that feeling even harder.

“Let's have some good old-fashioned birthday sex,” Rhys whispers, soft little laugh in it. They're using that stupid seductive voice again, and Joe has to bury his face tighter in their neck just to hide his smile and the satisfied humming noise that escapes his mouth.

Because it's ridiculous, sure, but it's still enough to run a deep shiver down his spine (and up his dick), or maybe that's their hands in his hair and on his back or the fact that they're still rubbing one leg up against Joe's pants-covered cock. Or maybe he's having that realisation how much he's really ridiculously in love with Rhys once again, how much they are in love with each other, this big all-encompassing need for them that swallows up the heavy coil of guilty and stupid. Maybe that's what's getting his face to go from warm to hot, even compared to the heated curve of Rhys' neck, and what's chasing another, warmer wave of sensation along his back.

Joe digs his fingers deeper into Rhys' thighs, the little amount of excess flesh there, and tugs their body up a little bit tighter against his cock. It's not enough, not even close to being enough, and still he's going to chase it for a little longer, just to draw this out and make it all the more satisfying for both of them. He already misses the feeling of Rhys' heartbeat in their throat against his lips when he goes back in for their mouth, but that's replaced by his own heart jackhammering tight in his ribcage when he feels Rhys' soft hands come to lay on top of his own.

“Little further up, yeah?” they ask against his lips, hands grasping and guiding him to underneath the hem of the shirt, all the way up to where their thighs meld into the swell of buttock, and Joe's heart does this weird hiccuping motion in his chest again.

“Yeah.”

There's this weird feeling of nerves and excitement that's been simmering somewhere at the base of his spine and that's now filled up into a fully-blown flame. Reminds him of when he was seventeen and sleeping with Rhys for the first time, except this time around it's not completely awkward and he's not going to come after three minutes of being inside them again, so maybe not really like their first time all over again. Some misplaced excitement after Rhys hadn't been in the mood for sex for too long for Joe's liking, maybe, and then his fingers actually meet the curve of Rhys' bum and the flimsy fabric of lacy underwear, and the next hiccup goes from excited to somewhere else entirely.

“What's that you're wearing?” Joe asks, and he knows it, obviously, his fingers keep petting along the delicate knickers.

“Since it's basically my birthday after all. Thought I'd get out some nice underwear.”

Joe hopes it's not all too obvious when he swallows, and really, it's not that he _isn't_ into it on some level, that he hasn't thought about Rhys in fancy lingerie rather than the neutral cotton underwear they prefer, but, “this isn't like what you said, right?” Joe swallows again and feels the fat lump of guilty and stupid sitting in his stomach that much more prominently. “That you're scared that I'll leave you for some girl or whatever so you put on lacy underwear to be that girl you think I secretly want.”

Rhys shakes their head. “Not like that.” Their hands loosen up where they're still sitting on Joe's, and then they bite their thin bottom lip and add, “maybe a little like that. But it's also 'cause I bought these months ago just to see how I'd like them.”

“Well.” When Joe swallows, for the third time, it goes down easier, and he asks, “do you? Like them?”

“Yeah, I do.” Rhys tilts their head up for a kiss and Joe goes in for it, his fingers rubbing soft circles on the lace now. “Been waiting for the right time to show them off.”

Joe rucks the t-shirt up along the way when he keeps on feeling along the knickers' material, up to the silky waistband and around to Rhys' sharp hips, mapping them out rather than fondling. Rhys' cock squeezed into the flimsy lace is sitting against his hip, still, but now it doesn't feel soft any more, which is comforting, at least.

“You know you don't have to do anything for me you don't want to, right?” he asks either way.

“I know that.” Rhys reaches for the hem of the t-shirt themselves, pulls it up over their head awkwardly, and they say, “'s not that different from wearing normal underwear, so.”

They're wearing a bra, too, Joe can see that now, a matching set that's green silk and what looks like dark blue lace in the dim light, and his first instinct is to whisper, “holy shit,” under his breath when he thumbs along the lace border on the lower edge.

“How d'you feel like this?” he asks, just to be really, really sure, but he can't ignore the way his cock jumps at the sight of Rhys' tiny breasts all accentuated and gently pushed up into shape, when they're normally inconspicuous enough they can be concealed by simply a loose shirt.

“Pretty,” Rhys whispers back, and they're using that stupid tone of voice once again, and if that wasn't enough to send a shiver along Joe's back, they're pressing a kiss to the sensitive spot by his jaw the next second.

“You look pretty, too,” he admits, hand still hesitant when it strokes up to just below where the cup of the bra starts. It's a different pretty from when Rhys is in full-on girl mode, a vulnerable kind of pretty that feels intimate with the knowledge that they'd let him see like this.

“I know I do,” Rhys says back, a soft laugh in it, “but thanks.”

They bring their hand back around to Joe's bum, to pull him in like that for another kiss, fingers grabbing tightly into the flesh, all that while Joe's hand remains just stroking Rhys' ribcage one gentle movement away from their breast, and Joe can't help but feel incredibly awkward again, even when Rhys is starting to rock their hips up back against his.

“D'you want to touch them?” Rhys asks when they pull apart. “You can, I mean.”

“Sure I want to,” Joe says back, right into their mouth, hand moving slow and careful to rub one thumb across the texture of lace on their breast, circling around where he can feel one perked nipple through the material.

He dips his fingers slowly underneath the material, feels around along the goosebumped tender skin all hesitant and awkward and feels like it's his first time all over _again_. Really, it kind of is, because he hasn't touched Rhys' breasts much since they first started to be noticeable, although he's watched them squeeze their own nipples with a look of almost-pain on their face during sex. Heard all about how _sensitive_ they were now, too, and judged by the way they let out tiny noises against his mouth when Joe does as little as rub his fingers carefully across their nipple, they really are, although he still feels a little uncomfortable with how much he wants to touch when he knows that Rhys isn't really into the concept of having breasts in the first place.

“Just want to be sure you're really comfortable with me doing this,” he says, when he pulls back from the kiss again, and maybe it's a little bit late to ask when he's already got one hand easily covering the whole of Rhys' breast underneath the flimsy bra, but _still_.

“Sure I am.” Rhys laughs at him, Joe can feel it under his fingers, and they whisper, “so overbearing.” They lean up to kiss the corner of Joe's mouth once again and say, “I'll tell you if I want to stop, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Joe leans down to connect their lips properly, to lick into their mouth, and his fingers resume tracing circles on Rhys' soft skin, just barely brushing over their nipple.

“And you'll tell me if you want to stop,” Rhys continues, leg still carefully rubbing between Joe's, where his cock has started to soften with the feeling of guilty-and-stupid and this conversation.

“Yeah,” Joe says back, and he decides to bring his other hand up to Rhys' chest as well, to pet over the breast that he'd ignored up until now, and he feels the lace and silk underneath his fingers and Rhys' knickers-clad cock hard against his hip and the knowledge that he doesn't need to feel bad for being so turned on by this, and he says, “but I don't think I want to stop.”

He feels Rhys hum against his mouth rather than hearing it when they move in to kiss him again, feels their legs move under him and one hook around the back of his thigh so their cocks can grind together more easily. Their hands slip underneath his pants, as well, dig into his arse more insistently, enough to make a low groan slip out from Joe's mouth when he moves away from Rhys' lips down to where their jaw meets the side of their neck. Rhys' fingers are groping at the flesh as much as they're keeping him close, slipping between his cheeks to pet at his hole, and that little shock up his spine when they first touch one fingertip to the furl of it is what makes Joe figure he should maybe stop being so excessively gentle with their breasts.

When he closes his thumb and pointer finger around their nipple it's already pebbled up tightly, skin so tender and soft he doesn't dare to tug too hard, but the sound that comes from their mouth makes him almost wish he'd tugged harder. He pinches the little bud experimentally, feels their chest heave with it and their heartbeat all too prominently under his lips again, soft squeaky noises from their mouth that make Joe's cock ache a little bit too hard to not be embarrassing for him. The friction between their clothed cocks isn't enough, it's not anywhere near enough, but Joe wants to see just how much he can rile Rhys up just by playing with their breasts before he'll think about getting himself off. He twists both their nipples at once while he kisses further down their neck, and that's apparently too much, because their almost-pained noises turn into actual, hair-raising pain, fingernails clawing in deeply. Joe stops where he was kissing the soft spot above Rhys' collarbone.

“Was that too much?”

“Too much.” They pet at Joe's bum some more, just gentling over where they'd had their nails with their very fingertips. “Too much friction.”

“'m sorry,” Joe says.

It's muffled by his mouth folded over Rhys' clavicle, but it's easy, knowing that it'll be okay either way just from how Rhys keeps grinding their cocks together when Joe returns to rubbing gentle circles over their nipples. He sucks a gentle mark, so light he can only barely make it out in the low light, and leaves a slobbery kiss on top for good measure before he bends his back so he can trail his mouth further downwards to the soft indent of their cleavage.

A new shiver of goosebumps raises on Rhys' skin when Joe first touches his mouth to the side of one breast, licks a gentle stripe along the edge of the bra and makes sure they can really feel the contrasting sensation of soft tongue and hard metal stud. His fingers pull back from underneath the bra so he can properly leave kisses all along what he can reach of their breasts, suck a deep purple mark onto one, which makes Rhys squirm and squeal some more underneath him, but, “hey, don't act like you don't love it.”

Because they do, very, very much, in fact.

“You put a bruise on my tit,” Rhys protests, but when Joe drags his tongue over it all apologetically, their face screws up into a much more pleased expression.

“Like anyone but me's going to see that.”

Joe sucks at the mark a little more, just to feel Rhys squirm against it, before he finally kisses all the way down to where the bra starts, the tiny bow sitting between their breasts. He noses into their cleavage, feels his cock blurt out a little bead of precome, at the sensation of tender skin on his face, but mainly at the fact that he's got his head pressed between breasts, which he's enjoying more than he reckons he should admit to.

“They're bigger than I thought, you know?” he says, brings his hands up to squeeze just to prove a point. “Bigger than what they look like naked.” He's not that sure how breasts work, actually.

“Yeah, that's the bra.” Rhys laughs down at him, but that quickly turns into a soft sigh when Joe pinches both their nipples through the material once more. “Can't believe I had to wait this long until you finally played with them.” Their fingers stroke back up Joe's spine, into his hair to keep his face close to their chest, and they say, “should do that all the time.”

“Yeah,” Joe says back, and he almost doesn't want to pull back even if it's just so he can really put his mouth on Rhys.

He closes his teeth around the peak of one nipple, careful not to actually bite down, just to hold it in place so he can swirl the tip of his tongue around it, gently suck it into his mouth. The noise that leaves Rhys' mouth when he does goes straight to his cock, keening high-pitched and cracking with it, and Joe's so, so grateful for having a datefriend who's loud during sex, it almost makes up for the taste of flimsy lace in his mouth. It's weirder when he opens his mouth further so he can really lick around Rhys' nipple and tease it with his tongue stud, the material bitter and almost scratchy against his mouth, and he does feel bad for getting the fabric gross with saliva.

“Hang on a second.”

Rhys looks almost dazed when he pulls back and hooks his fingers into the straps of the bra, easing them down their shoulders.

“Can I take that off?”

“Yeah.”

Joe's not sure if the bra's got clasps on the back, and he's not really in the mood to figure out how to undo those, either, so he just goes for the next best option and pulls it down their torso enough to get Rhys' chest completely exposed. He feels like he's ruining a piece of art when he undresses them, like he's desecrating the perfect image of Rhys in lingerie, and he ignores that thought because making Rhys come is a million times more important to him right then.

The feeling of their bare soft breasts under his hands is more than worth it, either way, nipples deep pink with how hypersensitive they already are, only blushing a little bit deeper when Joe rolls them both between his fingers. He latches his mouth back onto one, flicks his tongue over the little bud while he keeps fondling the other nipple, and at this point Rhys' cock is so hard against his that he's sure he can feel a tiny spot of precome in the lace even through the layer of his own pants.

They keep on making those noises, loud and undignified and breathy like a porn star, the type of sound they normally only make when they're getting fucked. Joe relishes every single one of them even when he decides he's sucked at that nipple for long enough and replaces his mouth with his fingers, lubricated with spit when he twists gently. He leaves another mark in the spot right between Rhys' breasts, where he can clearly feel their heartbeat underneath his lips, and he's about to move on to the other nipple when he looks up and notices it.

Rhys is crying again.

“Hey? D'you want me to stop now?”

“What?” The tears are flowing gently this time around, two jagged tiny streams going down their cheeks, and in fact, Rhys looks so dazed by now that Joe isn't sure they're even aware they're crying. “No. No, don't stop, please.”

Rhys' fingers pull him up gently by his hair, and Joe obliges and kisses them. He stretches one arm out to reach for the tissues again and starts to gently clean them up while he's still got their mouths mashed together.

“I'm just so _happy_ ,” Rhys whispers, soft and broken and whiny, but also distinctly turned on, and Joe can't help but smile back when they do. “You know, it's the hormones.”

“I know.” Joe rolls their nipple between his thumb and index finger, just so he can see that smile twist and scrunch up, and he dabs the tissue across their cheeks some more. “It's okay.”

“And I'm a little bit overwhelmed 'cause no one's ever sucked on my tits before until now, too,” they continue, little laugh in their voice like that's the most ridiculous thing to ever be overwhelmed by, not like that electric current in Joe's insides that comes with getting to touch Rhys like this. “But just don't stop, please, okay?”

“Okay.” Joe wipes the tissue over Rhys' cheek one last time, as gently as he possibly can. “Better now?”

“Better now.” Another kiss, and Joe discards the tissue where he'd put the ones from earlier, so he can go back to fondling Rhys with both hands.

He's quicker this time when he kisses his way back down to Rhys' breasts, but he still relishes every soft sound that hiccups out of their mouth when he does. Some of them sound suspiciously like sobs, actually, even though there's no fresh tears on Rhys' face when Joe raises his gaze just to check.

“This's so nice,” they breathe out when Joe finally licks a careful circle around the nipple he'd been neglecting until now, only barely covering a moan, “just saying.”

“Yeah,” Joe says back, even though he's pretty sure he wasn't meant to reply to that, but it really is, _nice_.

He gently flicks his tongue over that nipple, lets the head of his tongue ring catch on the little bud, and he ruts his hips down hard in response when Rhys' entire body flinches, lets their heated noisy breaths run hot shocks down his spine. Rhys is so fired up underneath him already, he's not sure how much longer they're going to stand just dry humping with pants on.

And not sure if they're going to last long enough to get properly undressed at all, for that matter, and the noise they make when Joe properly sucks their nipple into his mouth makes him think it's entirely likely, too, ridiculous and shameless and pornographic. His dick aches with how much he needs them to keep sounding like that, so heavy in the precome-stained clinging mess of his briefs it almost feels more bothersome than anything, and he's pretty sure some precome from Rhys' cock is seeping through the lace and is only making it worse. He traces one hand down just to check while he uses the other to tug the nipple he isn't currently swirling his tongue around, and he's right, Rhys is _wet_ for him, so much fluid sticking to the delicate lace it borders on gross.

They're so hard it feels almost as painful as Joe's own cock when he palms them through the material, sloppy and desperate, and his fingers are sticky when he pulls away.

“Hey,” Joe says when he removes his mouth from Rhys' swollen nipple to lick his hand clean, the salty-bitter taste of it only making him crave more. He squeezes both their breasts at once, watches the flushed skin go pale around where his fingers are digging in, not too hard, just the amount of roughness Rhys likes, and he asks, “think you can come just from this?”

“Probably,” Rhys says back. “Hey, you missed a spot.”

They grasp for Joe's wrist to suck what little bit of precome Joe hadn't caught from his fingers, clever little tongue and soft lips, and Joe squirms further down into their spread legs at the thought of what else they can do with that mouth.

“Fuck,” Joe breathes out softly when they place the hand back on their breast where it belongs, and he hates that self-satisfied slaggy smile Rhys gives him only almost as much as he loves it.

“Anyway.”

Rhys leans up and purses their lips for a kiss, which Joe gives to them, his lips still slick with saliva. It's gentle, too gentle for how turned on they both are, but Joe compensates for it by pinching at Rhys' nipples some more, rolling them between his fingers until he's almost sure he's gotten them even harder than they were before.

“Probably could come from you playing with my tits, but I don't really want to find out tonight.”

Their hands stroke up Joe's arms, down his back and to his bum once more to snag the elastic of his waistband there, and Joe wonders even harder than he did before why the _hell_ he's still wearing pants.

“Get your kit off for me, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Joe doesn't _actually_ bother with getting his kit off, though, only sits up to pull his pants down far enough to get his cock and balls out. It's a feeling of almost-relief when his cock slaps up against his stomach into the cooler air of the room, already nasty with precome sticking all around the head of it.

“D'you want me to...” Joe starts, fingers slipping underneath the waistband of the knickers, and before he can even finish the sentence, Rhys already nods.

“Yeah.”

The flimsy lace is absolutely soaked by now, sticking a little bit to Rhys' soft skin and the fat line of their hard cock when Joe starts to pull it down, but Rhys at least lifts their hips and draws their knees up to their chest to help him with getting them undressed. There's that feeling of ruining something beautiful again when he flings the stained knickers aside to somewhere, but the sight of Rhys almost completely naked and needy and dishevelled definitely makes up for it.

“You look so pretty right now,” Joe whispers when he leans forward to kiss Rhys again, because they _do_ , with the bra loosely around their ribcage like some adornment, deep pink nipples making a harsh contrast to the milky skin of their breasts. “Like some piece of art.”

“I know,” Rhys breathes back, hands pulling Joe forward by his shoulders. “Come back here.”

“Still wanted to tell you,” Joe says back, but he obliges, gets his one hand back on Rhys' chest and swings one leg around to straddle them. “Like this?”

Rhys' breath hitches at the slippery grind of their bare cocks together, and then hitches some more when Joe wraps his free hand around both of them to squeeze.

“Okay.”

This position means Joe has to bend his back at an even more awkward angle to be able to get his mouth on Rhys' chest and lick a long stripe along their cleavage. He can't ignore how it makes him feel powerful, though, to have Rhys trapped against the mattress by his thighs, and to know that he's got them basically on the edge when he's only _just_ started touching their cock. (On the other hand, the same goes for him, too, but that's just his own overenthusiasm that's responsible for that.)

They're both leaking so much at this point it makes his hand slide easily, hot and slick and messy, and Joe has to muffle the groan that slips out of him at one point by sucking down harder on Rhys' nipple. It's not really comparable to fucking Rhys, not like what he originally wanted, not anywhere near as tight or intense, but it's good in this delicate, exciting way, and Joe's thinking about being a teenager and getting off with Rhys like that again. Their fingers come to fold over his, wanking them both off together, and when they start to speak, it fits in a little too well with Joe's train of thought.

“I'm not gonna last long, just so you know,” they whisper, all too teenager-ish and experimenting and soft, and Joe's heart does a jump so quick it almost carries over to his dick.

“'s okay,” he says back, before he leans up to suck at their mouth and catch all their soft moans with his lips.

He can feel their fingers brush together, both on their cocks (obviously) and on Rhys' chest, is only a little aware of Rhys touching the nipple Joe isn't currently fondling, and it's all so much he's not sure how much longer he can last. The orgasm's starting to build in the pit of his stomach, tight heat in his balls and the base of his dick, and he's both so ready to come already and so needy to keep dragging it out.

“I won't, either,” he breathes out when he breaks the kiss.

Rhys squeaks and squirms underneath him, whispers, “ _Joe_ ,” drawn out and shapeless, and Joe can already imagine what they want. He's careful when he puts his mouth on their nipple, basically presses an open-mouthed kiss to it and licks the tiny bud like he's trying to snog it, and thrusts into their linked fists a little bit harder.

“Joe, _fuck_ ,” and, honestly, close as they were, Joe's still a little bit surprised when that little bit of tongue is enough to make Rhys splutter out slow flecks of come all across his fingers.

He lets them ride it out, gets some of the liquid all over his own cock in the process, and his own balls feel so heavy at this point he doesn't think he'll last much longer, either.

“Fuck.”

One sticky hand swats at the back of Joe's head, motions for him to pull away, and he does.

“Hey. You all right?”

Rhys blinks at him with dazed heavy eyes and nods, so slowly it doesn't really look like a nod, and Joe kisses their sweaty cheekbones and strokes their hair. He's still wound-tight and ready, heat all along his insides and his cock, one hand still stroking at his cock, but that all feels like background noise compared to Rhys' slack face and their gentle fingers in his hair, needy for more kisses.

“All good.” Their soft fingers pet at the head of his cock, where it's drooling out big drops of clear fluid still, and they ask, “hey, so. D'you want to?”

“Want to what?” Joe asks, and he's got something in mind for that, definitely, what sounds like something Rhys would be into, as well, but he's not near shameless enough to suggest it himself even considering all the other weird shit he's asked of Rhys in the past.

“You _know_ ,” Rhys insists. “Come on my tits?”

Just what Joe was thinking of, then. “What?” he asks, somewhat dazed himself with the need to come. “Yeah. I mean, of course.”

“Come here.”

Rhys' fingers are clumsy when they pull the bra even further down, so Joe can knee his way up to where he's straddling their chest, cock lying comfortably in the dip of their chest and smearing precome across the skin. He gets his fingers around the base and snubs it around a little bit, but it doesn't work the way it does in porn, their breasts aren't near big enough.

“Rhys, can you just,” he starts, and at this point, with Rhys' sweaty fucked-out face just underneath him, he's so turned on it's choking him off, “squeeze them together? A little bit?”

Even with their sticky hands holding their breasts in place, Rhys' cleavage still isn't that deep Joe could properly fuck it, but it's easier now, he rubs his dick along it and lets the visual and the bit of friction be enough to build him all the way up. Rhys has the nerve to actually _moan_ when Joe thrusts a bit too far forward, cockhead only a few inches from their chin and half-open mouth, still needy for it when they've already come. His cock jumps in his hand, blurts out a fat drop of precome, and since they're already needy for it, Joe wipes it up with his free hand and smears it across their lower lip.

“I think I'm gonna,” he says, mainly to warn them in advance, because the pressure in his balls is becoming too heavy, the skin of his cock drawing up too tightly.

Joe manages two, three more times of nudging his cock up between Rhys' breasts, and he's not sure if it's just his imagination or the amount of turned on he is fucking with his head, but he swears what sends him over the edge is the sensation of Rhys' heartbeat booming under the head of his dick.

It's a slow burning orgasm, insides going tight every time a rope of come spurts out and lands on Rhys' chest. Joe squeezes his eyes shut after the first one, but he can still hear Rhys' sped-up breathing, hear how much they're enjoying this, and that only makes it worse, makes him shudder with goosebumps on every splutter.

“Wow,” he whispers when it's all over, when his knees are feeling a bit weak and he's opened his eyes again.

He's careful when he sits down on Rhys' chest, even if he feels they're looking at him a little too smugly, and his fingers are a bit shaky when he grabs for the box of tissues once again. There's come splattered all over Rhys' cleavage, one rope reaching up past their collarbones onto their throat and one tiny splutter that's somehow made it to their jaw, and Joe starts to clean up there, before Rhys swats him away.

“Stop that. Let me.” They gather the mess up with their fingers and lick it right off, lips already shiny with precome getting even shinier, and Joe can't _not_ pull a face.

“I still can't believe how disgusting you are.”

“You love it when I'm disgusting,” Rhys points out, pink tongue swirling around their mouth.

Joe can't really disagree with that. Still, he quietly wipes up the traces of come Rhys missed with one tissue before he rolls off and takes care of the mess smeared around Rhys' lower belly and cock. He's got a little coil of nervousness rolling up in his stomach again, now that they're done, the feeling that he's just done something exciting and forbidden, and it's not guilty-and-stupid, but still.

“So,” he says, when he's pulled his pants back into place and put the tissues away. “I really liked doing that to you.” He's not going to snuggle up next to Rhys, because he knows they hate cuddling after sex, so he just pulls the duvet up to his waist instead.

“Me too,” Rhys says back. “We should do that more often.”

They awkwardly pull the bra over their head, throw it in the same general direction the knickers went earlier, and reach for their discarded sleep shirt to pull it over. When they lie back down, one of their hands links with Joe's, which is about the closest to cuddling Joe knows he's going to get.

“Yeah.” Joe pets over the soft back of Rhys' hand and says, “I really love you, you know? Not just when you're being disgusting.”

Rhys smiles back at him and reaches over to flick the switch on the bedside lamp. “Love you too.”

“And I know you probably knew that before, but I still wanted to tell you again, okay?”

“Okay.”

In the dark, Rhys' forehead bumps against Joe's, and they lean in for a quick peck, and Joe relaxes into the pillows. They're all good with each other.


End file.
